


Still Waters

by shadeshifter



Series: Finding Home [13]
Category: Angel: the Series, Highlander: The Series, NCIS, Supernatural, The Magnificent Seven (TV), Without a Trace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vin goes missing, without any memory of who he is. Tony still owes him one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a result of contemplating clichés and M7 fics, but never finished it. Then I started the Finding Home series and wrote Vin in, with this somewhere in the back of my head. So, here’s “Vin gets amnesia”, but with Tony and his team, and the requisite fairies.

Awareness was slow, painful, and shot through with almost memories that made him want to curl up protectively. Lethargic limbs made the action impossible and he could only moan softly. A soft, soothing voice loomed above him and murmured a litany, but understanding eluded him. Concentrating made his head ache, and his scalp already throbbed and itched alternately. 

The smell of antiseptic registered first and it sent a lance of panic through him. The smell was associated with Bad Things – worry, fear, pain – but his brain refused to divulge anything further than that. Light sliced across his eyes as he eased them open; the effort contained in that small movement draining his scant reserves of strength. Finally, the vague smudge of a person settled into a man peering at him with concern.

“There you are,” he said with a smile. 

It was difficult to focus on anything more than the white smile and green eyes. Longing was an almost physical ache that left him reeling. He tried to make his tongue form words, but it lay heavy in his mouth and wouldn’t co-operate. All he managed was a pitiful grunt that sounded closer to a groan. 

“Just a moment, Mr Falco, I’ll go fetch some ice chips.”

His eyes drifted shut for what felt like a moment and then something cold and wet was pressed to his lips. He sucked on the ice chip, letting it sooth his parched throat, and blinked his eyes open once more. The world settled more quickly around him this time and he turned to look at the man. Nurse, he corrected, seeing his scrubs. It was all too familiar.

“Don’t worry if you’re still a little disoriented. It’s only to be expected after surgery like yours. You’ll be up on your feet in no time, Mr Falco.”

That didn’t make any sense. His mind refused to fill in the blanks, but he didn’t think his name was Falco, and he was alone. Alone felt familiar, but it didn’t feel recent, and he ached at the loss he didn’t understand. He closed his eyes and let the world drift away from him.

-

Some indefinable sense told him that someone was in the room with him. He eased a hand under the pillow and was surprised when he didn’t find anything there, though he wasn’t sure what he expected. Without any alternatives he opened his eyes, only to quickly narrow them in a squint at the bright sunlight. 

Footsteps moved across the room, too light to be a man’s and too sharp to be anything but heels, and the light dimmed significantly as a curtain was drawn. He opened his eyes once more to see a doctor standing at the foot of the bed.

“Ah, Mr Falco, good to see you awake.”

“What happened?” he asked. Suspicion kept him silent about the other questions he had, like where he was, and especially who he was. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t safe, and he couldn’t afford to trust anyone, not when he couldn’t remember who meant him harm and who didn’t.

“You reacted adversely to an unknown narcotic. That on top of a serious concussion means you’re very lucky to be alive.”

“I don’t do drugs,” he objected automatically. He pushed to his elbows, then winced as pain lanced through his head. The doctor pressed gently on his shoulder to ease him back.

“We found ligature marks and evidence of physical assault. It’s possible you had no choice. The two men who brought you in indicated that you’d been held captive.”

He immediately looked down at his wrists and noticed, for the first time, the bruises and raw skin. A disturbed shiver rippled through him when he couldn’t recall who had had him or what had happened. He latched onto the first distraction he could.

“Two men?”

“Robert Smith and Rufus Jones. Do you know them?” He shook his head and the doctor continued. “They disappeared before the police could take a statement.” 

She looked at him for a moment, gauging his reaction, before continuing. 

“You’re likely to experience migraines, dizziness and nausea for some time. We’ll keep you under observation for a few days to make sure there are no complications. After that I’d like you to come back every few weeks for a check up.”

“ ‘Course,” he conceded, pushing his instinctive dislike for hospitals aside in the interest of keeping a low profile.

“I’ll be around in the morning to check on you, Mr Falco,” she told him with a pat to his leg. “Get some rest in the meantime.”

-

The third time he woke it was gradual and with a creeping awareness that something was not right. He blinked his eyes open to see another woman standing over him. The angles of her face were too sharp and her eyes too bright. Some instinct screamed that she wasn’t human and he was surprised when the rational part of his mind didn’t argue. He watched her warily.

He wanted to believe that it was a dream, but the terror pooled in his stomach and gripping his throat prevented that.

“A stór,” she murmured, reaching out to caress his face. Some unremembered instinct made him keep still. Resistance meant pain. “Your reaction was unanticipated and the hunters were useful. I’ll come back for you when you’re better. For now, sleep.”

At her murmured command he felt his eyes drift shut despite his best efforts. Cool lips pressed to his cheek and he shivered as dreams stole over his mind.

-

He clawed his way to consciousness, anxiety and nightmares on his heels. Panic bled along the edges of his mind and he touched his cheek. The skin, rough from days of stubble, felt cool. Too cold for the warm night. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that slithered down his spine.

It took time, and more effort than he’d anticipated, but he managed to lever himself up. He glanced thoughtfully, longingly, at the cabinet with the medication before he turned away. It would only muddy his thoughts, and focusing was already difficult enough. 

His grip on the bed was white-knuckled as he pushed himself to his feet. His ribs protested and various bruises and tender spots made themselves known, but none quite so much as the burning poker skewering through his head. He held still, scarcely daring to breathe, and willed the pain away.

The doctor told him he was going to be fine, he just needed to rest. He couldn’t afford that now, not when he was in danger. He wasn’t sure why he knew he was in danger. The strange woman hadn’t done anything threatening but every instinct screamed at him to run, to get as far away as he possibly could, then dig in deep and hide. He didn’t have any memories to rely on, he only had his instincts, and he was going to trust them.

Leaning more heavily against the wall than he’d like, he made his way into the ward across the hallway where two men slept soundly. He quietly opened the cabinets and grabbed jeans, a shirt, and baseball cap from the younger man. From the older man he took a cane.

The steady sound of flat-soled shoes echoed along the quiet linoleum-tiled hallway. He ducked back against the wall and flattened himself. His heart beat painfully loud in his chest, but some experience, remembered only in his familiarity with the situation, told him to relax, that this was second nature. He wasn’t too sure he liked what that said about him, but he went with it. The footsteps were gone a moment later.

He made his way back to his room and changed as quickly as he could into the clothes he’d taken. His wallet was shoved into the back pocket. He still didn’t have any shoes or coat, but hopefully he could still go unnoticed long enough to leave. He needed to get away, not only because he was in danger, but because his presence was putting everyone else in danger. He leaned heavily on the cane as he left the room, cap on his head, covering the bandages.

-

Chris stormed into office, the door crashing open in his wake. A tired and pale Ezra followed in his wake.

“You lost Vin?” It wasn’t a question. The FBI agent glowered at the tone. 

Chris hadn’t wanted to loan two of his men to the FBI but he’d had little choice. The directive had come from the Deputy Director himself. Even Orin Travis had had his usual avenues of objection cut off. With that, Chris had had very little recourse when the FBI had requested Vin and Ezra for a two month undercover operation. He’d known something would go wrong – it always did when Vin and Ezra were involved – but he’d had no one to back his refusal.

“Evidence indicates that he walked away of his own volition.”

Chris slammed his hand down on the table and the FBI agent started, then straightened in an attempt to cover his reaction. 

“That’s bullshit,” Chris snarled. “Vin wouldn’t leave Ezra without backup.”

“There were no signs of a struggle and all his things were gone. What other conclusion is there?”

“As I have informed you, it is likely that he was taken and the act covered up,” Ezra said coming to stand at Chris’s side. 

“Even when offered deals, none of the suspects admitted to any knowledge of Agent Tanner’s location or condition.”

“They could have been lying, or someone else could have him. Did you even look for him?” Chris demanded.

“He compromised a Federal investigation. We have several teams looking for him.”

“You’re planning to question him?”

“When he’s found his absence will require explanation.”

“Chris,” Buck said as he rushed into the room. “JD’s got a hit on Vin’s undercover ID. He’s at a hospital.”

“That explanation enough for you?”

Chris cast one last glare at the agent and stormed out. Ezra and Buck followed after him. 

-

He slipped into the back booth of the diner. A waitress came to stand at his table, pen poised over her pad.

“What can I get you?” 

“Coffee,” he murmured. It was warm enough that he hadn’t missed not having shoes and a coat, but his energy was flagging. 

“Coming right up.”

He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. The first thing he did was make sure that he had enough money for coffee. The second was check for ID. It said he was Vincent Falco. It felt familiar, but not familiar enough to truly belong to him.

“My name is Vincent. Hi, I’m Vince. Name’s Vinnie,” he murmured, trying out the various combinations to see if anything sounded familiar. He sighed. It still wasn’t familiar enough. 

A cup appeared in front of him and he looked up sharply to see the waitress watching him with a tight smile. Crazy homeless-looking man talking to himself, check, he thought cynically. Of course, it’s possible that’s what he was. He gave her a small smile, but he imagined it looked rather gruesome with his bruises.

He sipped the coffee as she walked away and winced. It was weak and milky, and not nearly to his apparent tastes. After emptying three packets of sugar into the coffee he tried again. Barely tolerable, but he’d manage. He turned to the wallet once more, but beyond a slip or two there wasn’t much of use. All he was able to learn was that he had a sweet tooth, which he’d already figured out. His only hope in finding out what happened to him was in finding Robert Smith and Rufus Jones, who were apparently hunters. The only problem was he had no idea how to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New poll up at my LJ for when I eventually get around to writing the Leverage fic. Not sure if I'll be able to squeeze in a love interest for Eliot, but if not, I'll write it in somewhere else. Vote and comment [here](http://shade-shifter.livejournal.com/62104.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Chris marched into the hospital and people scattered before his glare. He had not been impressed when JD had informed him that Vin had left during the night while they were travelling and had no clue where he had gone. The kid had held up impressively against his anger and Chris felt a little bad about that, but he doubted it would be the last time until they found Vin.

It had been bad enough when Vin was investigating NCIS, but that had only been a few weeks and he’d known where Vin was whenever he’d needed to. Whatever contact he’d managed to keep with Vin and Ezra had been whenever they’d manage to sneak away from their FBI handlers. Vin was going to give him grey hairs long before he was due, he was sure.

“I’m looking for the doctor that was treating Vincent Falco,” Chris demanded, catching the first nurse he came across. The man had dark hair and green eyes that widened in fear and then narrowed quickly.

“Who’s asking?”

Chris quickly flashed his credentials and the nurse relaxed a little bit.

“Look, it’s like I told those FBI guys, Mr Falco was pretty out of it. He shouldn’t have been out of bed, never mind out of the hospital.

“You treated him?”

“I was there when he woke up, but he fell asleep pretty quickly. Dr Rush was the one who worked on him. I think he was up to a conversation when she checked on him,” the nurse said. 

“Where can I find her?” Chris said. 

“Doctors’ lounge on the first floor,” the nurse said, gesturing to the elevators just past the reception desk. Chris didn’t bother with him any further and he bypassed the elevators, taking the stairs two or three at a time instead. When he reached the doctors’ lounge he heard voices raised in argument and he pushed the door open and walked in to see two men arguing with a woman in a lab coat.

“FBI,” one of the men said, flipping open the wallet with his badge. “This is a private discussion.”

“ATF,” Chris said. “And it’s not your case.”

“An agent is missing.”

“An ATF agent,” Chris told him. “My agent. And you’re the ones who lost him. I wouldn’t trust you to find your own ass, never mind my agent.”

“He disappeared during the course of our investigation,” the agent said.

“He was kidnapped and assaulted and your agency was too incompetent to notice. Your investigation’s over but if you interfere with my search for my agent, I’ll make sure if you ever work in law enforcement again, you’ll be lucky to be writing tickets.”

“I’ll be talking to my superiors about this,” the agent said. Chris bared his teeth in something approaching a smile.

“So will I.”

The agents disappeared quickly after that and Chris was left facing the doctor.

“I hope you won’t insist on records without a court order,” the doctor told him. 

“Vincent Falco was my agent’s undercover identity. His real name is Vin Tanner and I have power of attorney,” Chris told her.

“Do you have documents to that effect?” she asked, eyes hard. He matched her glare for a moment before he pulled out his phone and dialled Buck.

“Get me Vin’s legal documents,” was all he said before he ended the call. He’d never been so glad for Nathan insisting on medical and legal papers for every member of the team after the first disastrous visit to the hospital when they hadn’t had anyone to make decisions for Vin.

“I appreciate your co-operation, Agent...” she said, expression relaxing into something professionally pleasant.

“Larabee,” he said. “Agent Chris Larabee.”

She smiled.

“Can I offer you coffee while we wait?”

“Thanks,” Chris said, jaw clenched as he was forced to wait, putting even more space between him and Vin. “Can you at least tell me if he was alright?”

She gave him a small smile.

“He was recovering well.”

He was nursing an untouched cold cup of coffee by the time Ezra arrived with the required documents. Chris wasted no time in handing them to the doctor who scanned them quickly before looking at Chris with far more sympathy. Chris nodded when she looked at Ezra. Ezra hadn't been able to let go of the idea that somehow he could have prevented Vin being taken. Chris was sure that if Ezra had had the opportunity to do something it would have been done. Ezra and Vin had a strange friendship considering how different the men were, but it was absolutely solid. He wasn't going to exclude him now.

“When Mr Falco... forgive me, Agent Tanner, was dropped off two days ago. He’d been beaten, restrained and drugged, though we’re still not sure with what. He regained consciousness for a short time yesterday morning and then longer in the afternoon. By this morning, he was gone.”

“But he was alright?” Chris said, needing to double-check.

“Despite the drugs and concussion, he was quite coherent for the short time he was awake. He didn’t seem to have much memory of the event itself that led to his stay in the hospital, but that was to be expected,” she told him.

“He didn’t want to call anyone? Didn’t seem distressed to be in a hospital?” Chris asked, because something just didn’t feel right. 

“Oh no, I don’t think he was awake long enough to think of it, but he did accept that a few days stay was for the best. Which is why I was so surprised that he left.” 

Chris looked at Ezra and both men frowned. 

“Would you be inclined to direct us to the security office?” Ezra asked. “I believe your security footage might shed light on the situation.”

-

He had stolen a few more things, including a coat and shoes that almost fitted, which was something of a relief. He’d even managed to get a bit of money since he couldn’t remember any of the pin numbers for the cards in his wallet and some instinct was telling him not to use them anyway.

The only avenue of investigation he had were some names and that they were hunters, so that’s what he was pursuing. That was why he’d found the name of a hangout for local hunters and was now standing outside a rather shabby looking bar that somehow felt familiar in some intangible way. Not that he thought he’d been here specifically, but that he’d often been places like this.

He pulled the cap lower, to shadow his face, and stepped inside. It took a moment for him to adjust to the dim light within and he went to the end of the bar, keeping his gait as steady as possible, even as he leaned on the cane.

The stool was uncomfortable, mostly a factor of his bruised body than the chair itself, but he wasn’t planning to stay long. The bartender moved to his end of the bar and he ordered a beer. He didn’t particularly care what kind it was, since he wasn’t planning on drinking it. Even without knowing much else, he knew enough not to mess with whatever drugs might still be in his system and the lingering headache.

“I’m looking for someone,” he said, drawing the bartender’s attention. 

“Should probably be at Charlie’s then,” the bartender told him.

“The men I’m looking for are hunters,” he said and he slid one of his precious bills across the bar. The bartender pocketed it and raised an eyebrow at him. “Robert Smith and Rufus Jones.”

The bartender shrugged, shook his head and moved off before he could ask anything else. He sighed and turned the glass in his hands, wondering what he should do next. Finally, he got up off the stool and left the bar. 

He was barely out the door when someone grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. He was sure he could feel his bones grind together. He struggled, managing to get in a few good hits, before the man overcame him and shoved him up against the wall again.

“Who are you and what do you want with Bobby and Rufus?” the man demanded. He grunted in pain as the man dug into a particularly sensitive bruise. 

“If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t need them,” he said. 

The man looked confused for a moment before pulling out a knife and scoring his neck before he could do anything stop it. A moment later, he was splashed in the face. The man seemed confused but he loosened his hold.

“What do you mean?” the man demanded.

“I don’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital a day ago. I don’t know anything about how I got there except that this Bobby and Rufus brought me in. I need to know what happened to me and they’re the only ones with answers,” he said. 

The man hesitated, evaluating him closely before he nodded and stepped back, releasing him. He massaged his shoulder, trying to ease the ache.

“Smith and Jones are aliases,” the man said with a faint smirk. “You’re looking for Bobby Singer. Try Singer Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.”

“Thanks,” he said. The man shrugged.

“If you try something, Bobby will kill you and if he doesn’t, the Winchesters will,” the man warned him. He nodded, not entirely sure what he was getting himself into.

-

Dean thought that he wouldn’t ever get used to travelling by Cas as they landed on the porch of Bobby’s house. Sam knocked politely but Dean just rolled his eyes and opened the door, letting them in.

“Hey Bobby,” he called before going into the kitchen to grab a beer. 

For a long time, Bobby’s had been as close to a home as any of them had, even if Dean had found a new place to settle down, that didn’t mean this place meant anything less to him. Sam could behave like a visitor, but Dean refused to.

Although, Lindsey’s vague but somehow still pointed comments had been why Dean had suggested popping over to Bobby’s with Sam to catch up. He hadn’t seen Bobby since the whole Azrael thing and with the team he’d been seeing the man less than usual before that since his hunting was now sponsored by the government. 

“What do you ingrates want now?” Bobby asked, walking into the kitchen. There was a crinkling around his eyes, however, that Dean knew meant he was pleased to see them. 

“To drink your beer and eat your food,” Dean told him, raising the bottle.

“Your government salary not covering the basics?” Bobby asked, getting a beer of his own. Sam sat down at the kitchen table and the others joined him.

“Far be it for Dean to pay for anything he doesn’t have to,” Sam said, grinning.

“Dean is very generous,” Cas objected and Dean fought a blush, half wishing he could teach Cas to filter himself and half not wanting the angel to change at all. Sam snickered.

“So, you been up to anything interesting?” Dean asked, changing the subject without any pretence at subtlety. 

“Just got back from a hunt with Rufus,” Bobby told him.

“How did it go?” Sam asked, leaning forward with interest. 

Dean found it a little ironic that now that Sam was out of hunting entirely, the way he’d always wanted to be, that he was clamouring to get back in. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not when the last time they’d been hunting together, they’d had to face Lucifer and Sam had died. Worse than died. Bobby shrugged.

“Let me tell you,” Bobby said, “fairies are not all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Fairies?” Dean asked with a grin. Bobby shot him a glare.

“They are not to be underestimated,” Cas told him, standing behind Dean’s chair so that Dean could feel the warmth of him. Dean leaned back and looked up at Cas.

“But fairies?” Dean asked, holding up a hand with thumb and forefinger barely two inches apart.

“Before they became the fair folk, they were as gods,” Cas told him.

“And they pack quite a punch,” Bobby added.

“But you dealt with them,” Sam said. Bobby shook his head.

“Fended them off, maybe,” Bobby told them. “But they won’t be down for long. We did manage to get a civilian out, though.”

“Maybe I should ask Tony to look into it,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Adam might know something about it, too.”

“Ain’t much can kill a fairy,” Bobby said.

“You clearly haven’t let Adam have a go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to vote and/or comment on a pairing for Eliot when I get around to writing him into the series, go [here](http://shade-shifter.livejournal.com/62104.html). Please don't vote for Neal just because you want him in the series, he'll be added eventually anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

“What have you got?” Chris demanded as he strode into the office.

“Vin was dropped off by two men, but they kept their faces away from the cameras,” JD told him.

“Can’t you just enhance it?” Buck said, waving vaguely at the screen. JD shot him a look.

“Um, no,” JD told him with a tone of fond exasperation. “It doesn’t work that way. Not really.”

“What can you do?” Chris asked, tone brooking no more interruptions.

“I can tell you that Vin was treated almost immediately and that his wounds, while extensive, weren’t life-threatening as such,” JD told him. Chris nodded, mouth set in a grim line. He’d heard as much from the doctor.

“What else?” Chris asked.

“Everything seems fairly normal until here,” JD said, indicating a tall, thin woman who seemed to glide more than walk. 

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know. She’s not on any database I’ve got access to,” JD told him. “Or some I don’t.”

Chris rested a hand on JD shoulder and squeezed, knowing the kid would do everything he possibly could and a few more things besides for Vin.

“A few hours after she leaves his room, Vin gets up and steals clothing from the room opposite. “Here’s where it gets really weird,” JD said, showing the point at which Vin ducked against the wall, hiding from a nurse.

“Is that a camera glitch?” Chris asked, pointing to a shadowy aura around Vin. JD winced as Chris smudged his fingerprint across the screen but didn’t comment on it.

“I don’t know what that is,” he admitted instead. “It’s not any glitch I’ve seen before.”

Chris frowned. He knew there’d been things Vin hadn’t told him, about himself and his past, things Vin had wanted to tell him, Chris was sure, but he didn’t know how this might factor into it. If it even did.

When Chris looked up he saw Ezra frowning at the image, not in confusion but in worry. Quickly, Ezra wiped his face of any expression and looked up at Chris, saying nothing. Chris narrowed his eyes but Ezra remained expressionless. Chris stared at him for a moment longer before he shook his head. He’d deal with it later, after he’d found Vin.

“Any idea which direction he went in?” he asked instead. JD glanced up at him briefly, then back at the screen, moving the video forward, switching between cameras until Vin had exited the hospital. From there, they lost him.

“Find me something,” Chris told them. “Anything.”

JD nodded quickly.

He could feel the weight of Buck’s gaze on him, could picture the sympathy and the pity in it without needing to turn and look, it was long familiar now, and he walked out before Buck tried to say anything.

-

He stepped off the bus first since he didn’t have to grab any hand luggage or wait for on board luggage and looked around. At first glance, Sioux Falls seemed like a nice enough place, but it didn’t take long for him to notice that even though the people smiled at each other in greeting, their looks didn’t linger long and the smiles not much more than that. Something was going on, or had gone on, in the town. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter to him.

A quick chat, and a strange look, later and he was on his way to Singer Salvage Yard. He managed to hitch most of the way there, but the rest was slow going, walking as he was. He found he liked the outdoors, especially after being cooped up for hours. It was also another thing to add to the list; sweet tooth, strong coffee and the outdoors. Green eyes, too, he thought, remembering his first time waking up.

For the first time, he wondered if there was someone out there missing him. He’d been so wrapped up in getting away from danger or finding answers, that he hadn’t wanted to think too much about anyone that might be looking for him. At the moment, he had no way of recognising allies or enemies. The thought made him shake his head, trying to dispel it, since there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Singer Salvage Yard was quite a bit further out of town than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t sure, but he thought perhaps he had better than average stamina, especially given his wounds. It was another possibility to add to the list.

Vin wandered onto the lot, looking up at the stacks of cars, while he navigated his way to the house. He was almost to the door when he heard voices. He ducked back into the shadows, trying to disappear. Finally, the voices stopped talking and he heard a door close. He moved slowly out of the shadows and looked cautiously around. The yard looked deserted and he couldn’t help his sigh of relief. He walked up and knocked on the door.

“Don’t tell me you idjits forgot something,” he heard before the door swung open.

“Excuse me, sir,” he began.

“Whaddaya want?” Bobby, at least he assumed it was Bobby, asked. 

“Answers.”

Bobby folded his arms, giving him a hard stare. He pulled his cap off and ran his fingers through his long hair. Bobby’s eyes widened in recognition.

“How did you find me?”

“A little bit of investigation and a lot of luck,” he said with a faint smile. Bobby continued to give him a hard look. He rubbed at his temple, squinting his eyes a little at the pain, and shrugged. Bobby’s expression didn’t change. 

“Look,” he said, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets and hunching his shoulders. “I just want to know what happened to me and how to stop it from happening again.”

There was a slight shift in Bobby’s expression, a softening around his eyes, though the firm line of his mouth remained the same.

“What’s your name, kid?” Bobby asked. 

“Vin,” he said. The name he’d decided on during the long bus ride.

“Vin?”

“Just Vin.”

-

“Alright, Vin,” Bobby said. “You want to know what happened?”

“Anything you can tell me.”

The kid’s eyes were imploring. He looked Sam’s age, maybe younger. It wasn’t something Bobby had noticed before, not when the kid had been covered in blood.

“You’d better come in,” Bobby told him, standing aside. Vin hesitated only a moment before moving past Bobby into the house. He didn’t seem fazed by the books or the clutter.

Bobby held out a knife and Vin frowned at him.

“I’ve already gone through this once today already,” Vin said, exasperated, gesturing to a cut on his neck.

“Bear with me,” Bobby said dryly. Vin took the knife and cut at his palm before looking up at Bobby.

“That good enough?” he asked. Not squeamish, Bobby decided. 

“One more thing,” Bobby told him before handing him a flask. Vin looked at it for a moment before unscrewing it and sniffing at it. Cautious, too, Bobby thought, his opinion of the man rising. Finally, Vin took a sip before looking at Bobby strangely.

“Water?” he asked.

“Holy water and silver. They work against most of the more common supernatural things,” Bobby told him. Vin tilted his head, absorbing the information, before he nodded. Bobby was surprised at his calm. Most people, on learning about the supernatural, were thoroughly freaked out. 

“That explains a lot,” Vin said, fingers absently rubbing his cheek. Sharp eyes focused on Bobby. “Teach me. Teach me everything you know.”

“Just like that?” Bobby asked and Vin nodded decisively. Bobby could see there would be no arguing with him and if he didn’t give the kid answers, he’d just go looking elsewhere. For a heart wrenching moment, Bobby was reminded of Caleb.

“I don’t have anything better to do,” Vin said, bland tone masking Bobby didn’t know what.

“This life ain’t easy,” Bobby told him. “It’s pain and loss and precious little else.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Bobby letting Vin make up his own mind, before Vin looked down at his hands. When he looked back up, he reminded Bobby far more of Dean in those days after Sam’s fall into the pit than Caleb.

“I don’t have anything to lose,” Vin told him. “All I know is something happened to me and I don’t want it to happen again.”

“Alright.”

“Where do we get started?”

Despite himself, Bobby found himself wanting to believe the kid, and that was dangerous.

-

Chris answered the phone immediately when he saw it was from Orin Travis. 

“Orin?”

“I need you to come to my office,” Orin told him, voice grave. “The Deputy Director insists on a meeting with you.”

“I see,” Chris said, taking his time with the words and he thought about what this might mean for his search for Vin. He clenched his jaw tight against the anger and frustration that tried to claw its way out of him. “I’ll be right there.”

“We’ll sort this out,” Orin assured him. Chris ended the call with the barest of pleasantries marched into the main office. 

“I’ve got a meeting,” he told the others, leaving before any of them could comment. There was silence behind him as he walked down the corridor. 

Orin’s secretary didn’t bother to reprimand him when he strode past her and opened Orin’s door without waiting for permission. Orin looked up, frowning, but not in disapproval at Chris.

“Agent Larabee,” Orin said, gesturing for Chris to take a seat. Chris recognised the man standing in the corner. “Deputy Director Walters wanted to have a word.”

Orin’s controlled tone of voice made Chris grit his teeth because it never meant anything good. He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. 

“I hear you found Agent Tanner,” Walters said.

“We found evidence of where he was more than a day ago,” Chris told him. “We don’t know where he is now.”

“But he walked out of the hospital of his own accord?” Walters prompted. Chris really didn’t like where this was going.

“We haven’t been able to determine precisely what happened,” Chris said.

“Did he or did he not walk out of that hospital on his own?” Walters demanded.

“I think it would be easier, sir, if you could give us a clear idea of what you’re driving at,” Orin said. Walters pursed his lips and Chris wondered what was really going on.

“If Tanner’s working on his own, if he left a joint FBI operation and is now evading his own team, the agency will have no choice but to conclude that he’s gone rogue,” Walters told them.

“No,” Chris said. His tone brooked no argument.

“Sir,” Orin began slowly. “Larabee’s team has only been on the case for a day. It seems too early to come to any viable conclusions. And I’m sure there are any number of colleagues, myself included, who would be willing to vouch for Agent Tanner’s character.”

“Be that as it may...” Walters started.

“No,” Chris said, interrupting him. “We’re going to look for Vin and we’re going to help him, because if he’s going to ground then that means he’s in danger. It’s the only reason he wouldn’t contact us.”

“There’s a reason agents aren’t supposed to investigate the cases of those closest to them,” Walters told him. Chris stood, smirking at the way Walters startled and then remained tense.

“You take us off the case and we’ll just investigate on our own time,” Chris told him, determination clear in the conviction in his voice and the strength in every coiled muscle in his body. “I’ll quit if I have to.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Orin said, turning to look at Walters. Walters glared at them both, but didn’t object.


	4. Chapter 4

“You wanna know what happened to you?” Bobby asked as he handed Vin a beer and sat beside him on the front porch. Vin nodded, taking a sip as he leaned back against the top step. “We’d had portents of fairies becoming more active which, considering they’re secluded bastards, was a little unusual.”

Vin looked past him, eyes narrowed, though Bobby wasn’t sure what he was thinking about. There was a lot about Vin he didn’t know, but hunters tended to be a private lot, even the new ones. Especially the new ones. There weren’t any happy stories about how people came to hunting.

“We found their lair and managed to cause enough of a fuss that they fled,” Bobby told him, sanitising most of the story. Not because he didn’t think Vin needed to know it, but because it was a lot to take in all at once and he still wasn’t sure Vin wasn’t mostly in shock with how calmly he was taking everything. Usually Bobby had had at least a denial or a rant by now. “That’s when we found you.”

He stopped, gauging Vin’s reaction, but beyond a slight frown, he didn’t seem too troubled.

“Do you know why I was there?” Vin asked him. Bobby shook his head.

“It looked like they’d been performing some kind of ritual, but it wasn’t any kind I’ve seen before.”

Vin was silent for a long moment before he nodded and stood, looking at Bobby again. 

“How do I stop them from doing it again?”

Bobby handed Vin a Colt 1911, the kind of gun Dean and Sam had been raised on. 

“Now, you want to...” Bobby began, watching Vin heft the gun, testing its weight in his hand. He trailed off when he saw the sure way Vin ejected the magazine and locked the slide back, checking the chamber, before sliding the magazine back into place and pointing the weapon safely at the ground away from them, finger off the trigger.

“Huh,” Vin said, sounding surprised.

“Something you want to tell me?” Bobby asked, giving Vin an inscrutable look. 

“I didn’t know I could do that,” Vin said, looking up at him with wide eyes. He seemed entirely earnest and everything in Bobby’s experience said he was, but Bobby had seen quite a few things the last few years that were beyond his experience.

“You didn’t know?” Bobby asked, wondering if he should go and find some of the more obscure tests to see if Vin really was human.

“I don’t really remember much beyond waking up in the hospital.”

“You’ve got amnesia,” Bobby said flatly and Vin shrugged a little sheepishly. Bobby sighed and rubbed at his eyes. 

“Any particular reason you didn’t tell me?”

“Figured you’d send me away,” Vin told him, defensive and resolute at the same time.

“I’m surrounded by idjits.”

Vin’s grin bloomed slowly.

“What’s it say about you when it’s your choice?” Vin asked. Bobby glared at him but Vin was still entirely unfazed. “You’re the one that rescued me, you only have yourself to blame.”

Bobby removed his cap and rubbed a hand over his head before putting the cap back on.

“Always the smartasses,” Bobby muttered.

Vin’s grin shifted to a look of concentration as he raised the gun and fired at the bottles Bobby had lined up. Bobby couldn’t help his eyes widening in surprise as Vin hit each bottle directly, never missing.

“Well, you’ve definitely got training,” Bobby told him. “Military’s my guess.”

Bobby had seen enough military-turned-hunters to recognise the stance and efficiency of movements. 

“What about that side mirror?” Bobby suggested and Vin hit it without any trouble. After a few more shots, Bobby could see that Vin could hit just about anything Bobby pointed out. It was talent like Bobby had seldom seen.

-

A few days later and Vin could feel nervous energy thrumming beneath his skin, but it was surprisingly easy to ignore it and focus on the job at hand. He was starting to believe Bobby might have been right about military training. At least it was another thing to add to the list. 

Bobby looked at him with something approaching exasperated tolerance that Vin was beginning to recognise meant Bobby actually liked him. He grinned at the man whose expression didn’t change at all.

“Simple salt and burn,” Bobby told him. 

“No such thing as a simple anything,” Vin said as if by rote.

“Feeling inclined to add a hooah or an oorah to that?”

Vin shrugged, not sure what that was supposed to mean, but it was a feeling he was almost getting used to. Once he’d had a plan of action, a way of preventing himself from being put in the situation that landed him in the hospital, the rest had been easier to deal with or at least easier to not let it consume him. He had something to work towards.

Bobby tossed a shovel at him that he caught easily and gave him a look that said Vin knew what to do. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Vin said, starting to dig. Despite the repetitive nature of the job, Vin found he actually enjoyed being able to do something physical. There were still intermittent aches and pains, and the headache never seemed to go away entirely, but it felt good to be actually able to do something.

Sometime later, he hit solid wood and it didn’t take long to uncover the coffin. Bobby kept watch while he worked. He’d just cracked open the lid when a low wail started. Bobby shot a round full of rock salt at the spirit, which flickered out briefly before flickering back into existence behind Bobby.

“Simple?” Vin asked as he climbed out of the hole, adrenaline easing his awareness of the lingering aches and pains. Vin knew getting distracted now would only prolong the fight, so he grabbed the bag of salt and quickly tipped it over the bones.

Bobby swung his iron-embellished shotgun through the spirit when he ran out of ammunition, but it wasn’t enough to deter the spirit. It shoved Bobby hard, sending him flying. He landed hard from the sounds of it and Vin winced before pouring gasoline over the skeleton. 

The spirit appeared in front of him, ready to do to him what it had done to Bobby, before it stopped short, staring at him. Slowly, it backed a step up, still staring at him. Vin didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to ask questions, he struck the matches and dropped them into the grave. The bones went up in flames immediately and he had to step back to shield himself from the heat. The spirit screamed and dissolved from sight.

Vin rushed over to where Bobby was climbing to his feet and helped the man the rest of the way up. Bobby brushed himself off, wincing every now and then as bruises began to make themselves known.

“Simple, huh,” Vin said again, wondering if the thing with the spirit had been typical or if it was something he should mention to Bobby. Some instinct kept him silent.

“Absolutely run of the mill.”

-

“Tony,” Lindsey said, dropping the phone back in its cradle and look across their cubicle to Tony. Tony looked up immediately at his tone.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean and Adam began to pay attention then, too. 

“I’ve been keeping in touch with Tanner,” he told them. “Whenever our schedules allow.”

Lindsey had liked the man, for far more than just that they’d shared a state for a while growing up. Vin had done a lot for them, more than they’d been able to pay back. Lindsey hated the idea of not being able to offer help when he needed it. 

“I haven’t been able to get in touch with him for the last month. That’s not too unusual when he’s working on a case or undercover, but I did a little checking and it looks like he’s gone missing,” Lindsey told them.

“Any idea where he was last?” Tony asked. Adam was clicking quickly at his computer.

“He was at a hospital, but he left,” Lindsey told them. “His team lost track of him after that, but there isn’t any indication that he stayed in town.”

“So there’s a missing agent somewhere in America,” Dean said, curbing his sarcasm for the most part. Lindsey was sure it was only in deference to his partiality to Vin.

“Tanner’s team is based out of Denver,” Tony said. “We should start there.”

“Tickets are booked,” Adam told them. “We leave in an hour.”

Lindsey was already up and grabbing his jacket, Dean and Adam not too far behind him. Tony sighed.

“Crawford’s not going to like this,” he muttered and rubbed his eyes, already knowing it was going to be a long week.


	5. Chapter 5

Josiah couldn’t help the broad grin stretched across his face as he put the receiver down. The others turned to look at him with their own cautiously optimistic expressions.

“I reached out to some old contacts,” Josiah told them, not wanting to get into too much detail. “And one of them swears he’s seen Vin in the last few days.”

“How credible is your contact?” Chris asked, voice harsh and glare harsher. Josiah didn’t take it personally, none of the team did these days, not when one of their own was in danger and they understood all too acutely the responsibility Chris felt. Especially not when it was Vin. Josiah shrugged.

“He is not a righteous man, but he is seeking redemption,” Josiah told him. Chris’s mouth thinned in dissatisfaction but he nodded, indicating for Josiah to continue. “He thinks he saw Vin in Clear Lake, South Dakota.”

“South Dakota?” Ezra asked, tone making it clear that he wondering, just as Josiah was, how Vin had managed to make it all the way there and why he still hadn’t contacted any of them.

Chris’s face was a mask of resolve but Josiah could see his struggle in his narrowed eyes and the tic in his clenched jaw. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists before he slowly, painstakingly released them.

“Josiah, Ezra, I want you two to go to Clear Lake,” he said and Josiah knew what it must have cost him to give that order, to trust Vin’s safety to anyone else, even the team. 

“We will contact you as soon as we land,” Ezra assured him. Chris gave him a tight nod.

“We’ll find him,” Josiah added. “No matter how long it takes.”

-

Tony walked through the Denver ATF offices, curious about the generally more relaxed atmosphere than he was used to at the FBI, his team and Aaron’s excluded. A few directions later and he was walking into SSA Chris Larabee’s team’s office.

Half the seats in the main office were empty and all but one of the desks were piled with folders and papers. The empty desk was immaculately free of dust or debris of any kind and Tony knew intuitively that it was Tanner’s desk, that they were keeping it until Vin was back in that seat. 

“Something we can do for you?” a man with a truly phenomenal moustache asked, standing when they entered. 

“Heard you’ve got a man missing. We’re here to help,” Tony said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.

“And you are?” a man dressed entirely in black asked, standing in one of the other two doorways in the office. Tony guessed he was Larabee.

“SSA Anthony DiNozzo, FBI.”

Larabee’s already tense expression shuttered even further and he folded his arms. If Tony hadn’t worked with Gibbs or annoyed Kronos or faced gods and demons, the glare might actually have intimidated him. 

“FBI’re the ones who lost him,” Larabee said. Tony shrugged. He didn’t know all the details about Tanner’s disappearance, but he couldn’t say he was entirely surprised.

“We worked with him on a joint case with NCIS,” Tony told him. “His help was invaluable.”

Tony wasn’t sure how much more to say. He had no idea if Tanner’s team knew about the supernatural or knew about Tanner. He hadn’t seemed too inclined to reveal much about himself.

“He told us about you,” a black man said, standing as well and walking around his desk to shake Tony’s hand. 

“Said you made DC bearable,” the moustached man added and Tony glanced at Dean and Lindsey who looked a little pleased with themselves that Tanner had thought highly of them and expressed as much to his team.

“Vin said one of you could give me a run for my money,” the youngest of the group said, grinning at them.

“How are you going to help?” Larabee demanded. Tony shrugged again.

“You tell me,” he said and Larabee looked surprised. “Whatever you need us to do, just let us know.”

“You got a computer guy?” Larabee asked, finally unfolding his arms. Tony gestured to Adam who nodded and stepped forward. “Set up with JD.”

Adam nodded and went over to the kid who waved him over. JD started chatting quickly and Adam seemed to follow easily even if Tony had no idea what he was talking about. Larabee seemed just as clueless.

“Are there desks my people can use?” Tony asked and the man with the moustache gestured to the two cluttered desks that weren’t currently being used. That decided it as far as Tony was concerned, the other was definitely Vin’s desk. “Dean, Lindsey.”

The two men nodded and went to set up immediately.

“DiNozzo,” Larabee said and he turned to go back into his office, leaving the door open behind him. Tony followed him in, closing the door behind him. Larabee turned to look to him, gaze steady. “Thank you for what you did for Vin.”

“It wasn’t anything compared to what he did for us,” Tony told him and Larabee nodded like he hadn’t expected anything less.

-

Bobby watched Rufus sip the finest whisky Bobby had been able to get his hands on; the only reason he’d agreed to meet with Vin. He would have preferred to introduce Vin to the Roadhouse and Ellen, but that was no longer an option. Much of the hunter network had been decimated over the last few years, more than any other point in Bobby’s career. 

Pastor Jim used to be the best place for hunters to lay low for a while and Caleb would have made the perfect partner for Vin while he was still learning the ropes. There weren’t many hunters left who Bobby really trusted. He’d considered Tamara, but she hadn’t been the same since her husband died, and Garth was a little difficult to get used to.

Vin easily matched Rufus drink for drink and, though it was fairly difficult to tell, Rufus seemed impressed with him. Neither Vin nor Rufus had really spoken much, but that’s perhaps what had earned Rufus’s respect, that and they’d both seen the state he’d been in and how far he’d come in such a short time. Granted, they seemed to be the only ones Vin trusted. He’d avoided too much contact with anyone else. If the hunter network wasn’t so insular, he would have suspected that Vin had been wounded on a hunt.

Then again, the Winchester boys hadn’t exactly known much about the hunter network beyond Bobby, Jim and Caleb thanks to their father, though the network had known about them. It was possible that Vin had been as isolated at the boys before their father died. It might do them all good if he introduced Vin to Dean and Sam at some point. It would let Vin know there was something beyond hunting.

Still, despite himself, Bobby liked the kid even though it was dangerous to get attached these days and wanted him to survive as long as a hunter possibly could, and that meant knowing his resources. And using them, no matter how cantankerous they were.

“You gonna join us or just stare all night?” Rufus asked, barely glancing in Bobby’s direction. Bobby gave an exasperated skyward eye-roll before he sat down to join them.

“Figure he’s decided we’re not going to kill each other,” Vin said and he and Rufus tapped their glasses together. Bobby poured himself a drink and downed it in one go, ignoring Rufus’s disdainful snort.

-

Josiah and Ezra had made it to Clear Lake in record time, rivalling even Buck’s best travel speeds. Their search of the town had, with some prompting and sleight of hand bribery, finally reached a motel that was all too familiar as the kind of place Vin preferred when he was laying low. 

They walked in the front door, though Ezra did his level best not to touch anything too much, and up to the counter. The man behind it looked up, uninterested, then back down at his magazine. Ezra decided not to look too closely at what kind of magazine it might be.

“We’re looking for this man,” Josiah said, showing him a picture of Vin. The man didn’t even look up. Ezra withheld his sigh and withdrew another bill from his wallet and slid it across the counter. Chris would be getting a lengthy reimbursement form, Ezra decided. Though he’d gladly sacrifice far more than some money if it meant they could find Vin.

“Have you seen him?” Ezra asked again. The man pocketed the bill and glanced at the picture he gave a noncommittal grunt and looked down again.

“The wrath of the lord can be mighty indeed,” Josiah said, leaning over the counter and looming over the man. “Unless one repents.”

The man gave the photo a longer look then and nodded.

“Seen him and another older guy, maybe two days ago,” the man told them. 

Vin wasn't travelling alone then. Ezra hoped that this guy wasn't who or what was preventing Vin from contacting them.

"Did he seem hurt in any way?" Josiah asked. 

"A little bruised, maybe," the man said and shrugged. Ezra figured he'd probably made a career of not noticing too much. At least Vin didn't seem to be too badly off.

“Have they been back?” Ezra asked. The man shook his head, but pulled out a loose sheet of paper from under the desk. On it was a photocopy of Vin’s identification, only the name on it was ‘Vincent Cash’. At least they had an alias to track now.


	6. Chapter 6

As Vin watched the filtered light from the surface fade as he was pulled further under water, he considered that perhaps this hunting thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Not that he had any clear idea of what else he might have had to do with his time. The hand around his ankle tightened, claws digging into his skin, and Vin’s struggles slowly ceased as he ran out of energy. 

Vin’s lungs burned and his vision blurred, darkening around the edges. Finally, he couldn’t help it, he opened his mouth and breathed in. Water flooded into his mouth and lungs and, instinctively, he choked, clawing at his throat and kicking wildly, trying desperately to reach the surface. 

It took far too long for him to realise that he wasn’t drowning. He stopped, ignoring the hands grasping his ankle for a moment, and breathed. The feel of water flowing into his mouth was an incredibly strange and uncomfortable sensation. But he still breathed. 

He bent, reaching for the creature pulling at his ankle, and clawed at the hand until it released him. Quickly, he swam to the surface and crawled back to the sand. Bobby pulled him further up the shore. Vin coughed out the water in his lungs.

“Thought you were done for, kid,” Bobby said and Vin couldn’t help but nod. His thoughts hadn’t been all that different.

He wondered if this was another thing he’d be adding to his other list, the list of things he wasn’t mentioning. He may not have all that many concrete memories, but there were still some things he just knew he shouldn’t share. Maybe he’d been keeping these secrets all his life if they were so difficult to reveal even now.

“It’ll take more than that,” Vin told him, aware that he probably looked more like a drowned rat than a hunter. Bobby simply hummed, non-committal. Vin grinned briefly at him.

The creature swam closer to shore again, flashes of grey-green scales breaking the surface of the water. Vin rose to his feet and caught the machete Bobby tossed in his direction. Bobby aimed his gun at the water waiting for a clear shot. Vin flipped the machete so he was holding the blade and raised it to his shoulder. 

The creature rose out of the water, looking like something from a bad horror movie, certainly not the water spirit they’d thought it was at the beginning of the hunt. Which actually made it easier to deal with since they didn’t have to find a body or item imbued with the spirit’s life force. Bobby got several shots off, wounding the creature and making it scream, but not deterring it. 

Vin drew back the blade and then released it, sending it flying. It caught the creature right between the eyes and it gave a screech before crashing back into the shallow water. 

“Nice aim,” Bobby said and he shot the creature several more times for good measure. 

Vin stepped into the water and shifted so he was standing more firmly in the sand before pulling the machete from the creature. He returned to Bobby’s side and they stood staring at the creature for a moment.

“Ghosts are tidier,” Vin said finally. 

“Help me get it back to the truck,” Bobby told him. “If we burn it here, the park rangers will be on our asses.”

...

The atmosphere in the office was tense; those who weren’t having quiet, intense conversations on the phone were making their way through whatever databases they had access to trying to find any indication of Vin’s location.

Buck slammed down the phone, causing the plastic casing to creak. He ran a hand through his hair and stood abruptly, pushing his chair back.

“Not having any luck?” JD asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. Buck shook his head. 

“Josiah and Ezra are on their way back from Clear Lake. All they got was an alias and a cold trail.”

“But he was there?” Baines asked, frowning thoughtfully. Buck nodded. “The name?”

“Vincent Cash,” Buck told him. 

JD and Baines turned to their computers and began talking quietly but quickly to each other as they typed. Buck tuned them out, not having the patience just then to try and figure out the terminology they used. Besides, JD would give them the simplified version when he had something of use. 

Buck still didn’t know what to think of the FBI team. He appreciated the support they’d given Vin and their willingness to help find him, but there was something about them that put him on edge. It seemed they did the same to Chris, at least all but the leader, since Chris kept checking on them with the excuse of heading to the break room for coffee. No one liked coffee that much but Vin. Then again, Vin and Ezra had given Buck that same feeling when they’d first joined the team.

Winchester suddenly sat up and ended his own phone call. The rest of his team looked at him in interest and that was enough for Buck to call to Chris. A moment later he and DiNozzo exited Chris’s office. Whatever discussion they’d had seemed to have put Chris at something as close to ease as he was going to get before they found Vin. Buck didn’t think he’d ever seen Chris connect with another team leader quite so quickly, but then they were seldom so unified in purpose.

“I might have something,” Winchester said. “Garth says there’s some talk about a new hunter.”

“A hunter?” Chris said and his tone indicated that he knew the significance of that when Buck himself didn’t. Buck assumed it was more than just normal hunting or the emergence of a new hunter would hardly be news. From their frowns, JD and Nathan weren’t too sure what the importance was, either. DiNozzo’s team, on the other hand, didn’t seem to need any explanation.

“He matches Vin’s description,” Winchester told Chris, his expression one of firm determination. “And he showed up not long after Vin disappeared.”

Baines smirked and gave his head a brief shake.

“Kid knows where his talents lie.”

Buck felt like he was losing what little track he had of what was going on. Baines couldn’t possibly have been more than a year or two older than Vin, if that, and no one who met Vin and knew him to any degree really considered him a kid. Not with the things he’d survived.

“Chris?” Buck asked, looking at his old friend.

Chris frowned, eyes narrowing, as he considered his team. The room was silent for the first time since this whole thing had begun, as though they were collectively holding their breath to see what Chris would decide.

“How sure are about this?” Chris asked DiNozzo’s team.

“Very.”

“And where do you stand?”

“We keep things in check but none of us is in a position to be hypocritical,” McDonald told him. Buck was about to voice his frustration at being left out of whatever was going on when it affected the team and Vin especially, when Chris rolled his shoulders as if preparing for a confrontation, then lowered his head.

When he raised it, his lips were pulled back and his teeth bared, but it wasn’t the snarl Buck was more than familiar with. Instead of the blunt teeth he was used to, there were two rows of what Buck could only assume were fangs.

“Jesus,” he breathed, having never suspected anything like this.

The fangs retracted and Chris looked like himself again, but Buck wasn’t sure he could ever see him the same way again. He hadn’t always been that way, Buck was sure, not when they were young men, not when Sarah and Adam were still alive. But Chris had changed after their deaths, had pushed Buck and everyone else away, and he couldn’t help but wonder now if this had been part of that.

“That explains a lot,” Buck finally said. 

...

Bobby watched Vin towel his hair dry, the creature burning on a pyre behind them, and considered. Vin had been under that water for longer than should have been survivable. And if Vin had made the outside odds, he certainly shouldn’t have been in as good shape as he was. There were a fair number of things that could survive that, but only a very small number could breathe under water.

One of that number was certain kinds of fairies.

Though Vin hadn’t reacted to iron, but Bobby would be the first to admit he didn’t know everything about everything. Bobby had tried whatever folklore he could find; bells, running water – but clearly that wasn’t an issue, and Bobby had already tried all manner of holy items. 

Bobby did mostly believe the kid’s story, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to know what he was dealing with. As a hunter, you never knew when that information might come in handy.

“Beer and take-out?” Vin asked, looking at Bobby with a faint smile, evidently pleased with himself.

“Sounds good,” Bobby said as he followed Vin back inside the house.

He wondered if it was time to bring in some outside help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, it's incredibly difficult not to make hunters sound sinister when you're writing supernatural creatures.
> 
> On a side note, I've pretty much decided on Eliot/Hannibal King and Immortal!Neal/Henry Morgan (Forever). If you think someone else would be a better fit, now would be a good time to make an exceptionally convincing argument.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, profuse liberties taken with folklore, both Irish and Native American. OMG, the fairies actually show up. Briefly.

They were on their way back to the truck after picking up supplies in town when Vin felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere around them that sent shivers down his spine. He stopped short and Bobby paused just after him, easily picking up on his partner’s cues after years as a hunter. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Vin said softly, turning on his heel to look around them. 

Bobby reached into his truck and pulled out a duffle bag filled with an array of hunting weapons and tools. He pulled out a shotgun, checked that it was loaded, and raised it as he turned to scan their surroundings. Vin drew his Colt and held it ready.

Between one moment and the next, they were faced with about ten figures, all just slightly too uncanny to be human. There was a mix of fair and dark-skinned ones, but Vin was sure they were of the kind that visited him in the hospital. The kind that had sent him there to begin with. The kind that had taken everything he was from him. Some deep, instinctive part of his brain felt only frantic, paralysing fear at finally being confronted with them.

“Who are you?” Vin demanded, trying to curb that fear and desperation. 

“We are the Tribes of Danu,” one said. She was fair-skinned and beautiful, but just as off-putting to Vin as the woman who’d approached him that night in the hospital.

“And the Dark of the Sea,” another said, this one dark-skinned and black-haired.

“Since when do the Tuatha Dé and Fomorii work together?” Bobby asked, keeping his gun level and his gaze focussed on the fairies as he circled them. They ignored him for the most part, their attention on Vin.

“We have a common goal,” the first one said, but her expression was a grimace of distaste.

“What do you want from me?” Vin asked, because they seemed to be willing to answer questions. Even if Vin didn’t understand the answers, Bobby seemed to.

“You are the key,” she said without elaborating. 

“The key to what?” Vin asked. Almost faster than he could track, she was in front of him, hand gripping his jaw tightly, her nails digging into his skin. Bobby shifted his aim to her, but just as quickly, the other fairies aimed their weapons at Bobby.

“Enough stalling,” she told him.

“Caught that, did you?” Vin said. Bobby dropped a lighter to the ground and immediately a burning circle sprang up around the fairies. Vin knocked the woman’s hand away, his strength matching hers, and then pushed her back just as the circle completed. 

Several of the fairies tried to cross the flames only to rear back at the heat of them. Most of the dark-skinned ones didn’t even bother to try. Vin wondered if this explained why he was different, if maybe he was something like them, but that was a question that would have to wait for later. 

“That’s holy fire,” Bobby told the fairies. “If it can hold an angel, I’m fairly sure it can hold you, too.”

“You can’t hold us forever.”

“Don’t need to,” Vin said. “We just need to hold you long enough.”

“Time to go, kid,” Bobby told him, jerking his head. 

“Yeah,” Vin said faintly, thinking it was time to leave more than just the immediate area. Bobby shot him a sidelong glance and Vin figured Bobby knew exactly what he meant.

“I know someone who can probably help you.”

...

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what to think of the vampire in their midst, but then Lenore had made quite an impression on him and none of Larabee’s team seemed to fear him. Granted, none of them seemed to know about the supernatural at all, at least of those still at the office. He knew Vin knew about it.

“Check in with Bobby,” Tony told him once they’d given a general outline of what Larabee’s team might well be facing. “If anyone knows about a new hunter, it’s him.”

Dean nodded, standing up and grabbing his leather jacket. Tony glanced between the other two members of the team and saw Lindsey was deep in conversation, speaking a guttural language neither recognised.

“Adam, you doing anything you can’t hand off?” Tony asked. Adam was already up and moving to stand next to Dean. “Alright then.”

“Wherever you’re going, I’m going too,” Larabee insisted. Dean hadn’t really expected anything else. 

“You flying?” Tony asked and Dean grimaced, already praying to Cas. A moment later Cas appeared in the middle of the office. 

Larabee and Wilmington immediately drew and aimed their weapons at Cas, who dismissed them entirely when it became clear Dean wasn’t particularly worried about them. Dunne and Jackson were only a moment later.

“Vampire,” Dean said, pointing to Larabee. Then he pointed at himself. “Hunter.” Lindsey. “Mage.” Adam. “Complicated.” Cas. “Angel.” 

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Josiah’s going to be pissed he missed this,” Wilmington said, taking it in stride now that a new reality had been opened up to him.

“Let’s go,” Larabee snapped. Cas grabbed Larabee’s shoulder with one hand and Dean and Adam touched his other arm. In an instant, they appeared o Bobby’s porch. Larabee stumbled away from them and squinted up at the fading sunlight. Dean assumed it was only a little uncomfortable for him, not nearly as bad as it would have been at noon. 

“Bobby,” Dean called as he pushed open the front door, the others following him. 

He stopped short at seeing Vin next to Bobby in the sitting room, clearly in the middle of an interrupted discussion. There was a tattered backpack over Vin’s shoulder and he looked to be in thrift store clothing, but other than that he looked good. Certainly, he’d recovered from whatever had put him in hospital in the first place. 

“Vin,” Chris said, stepping forward and grasping Vin by his shoulders. Vin stared at him for a long moment before stepping back, out of Chris’s reach.

“Who are you?”

Dean didn’t think he was the only one with the sinking feeling that there was a lot more wrong with Vin than they’d anticipated. 

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Bobby said, folding his arms.

“Vin,” Chris said, ignoring Bobby but not making a move to reach for Vin again. “I’m Chris Larabee. Your boss. Your best friend.”

Vin frowned, staring at him intently. There might have been something close to recognition in his eyes, but it was distant and made more so by wariness and distrust.

“There’s no one I trust more than you, Vin,” Chris told him. “And I think you feel the same about me.”

Chris stepped forward again, the gesture mostly unconscious, and Vin took a half-step back. The shadows around him seemed to darken, shrouding him. It looked like he’d run at the slightest provocation.

“Nayehi,” Adam said and that made Vin pause, the shadows around him fading away as his curiosity overcame him.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s what you are,” Adam told him gently, keeping his distance. “You are a traveller, a fighter when you need to be, but above all, a protector.”

“I...” Vin began. He hesitated looking over the assembled group, breathed in deeply then shook his head on the exhale. 

Vin stepped back, becoming almost indistinguishable from the shadows and though Dean hadn’t seen it before, he had to agree with Lindsey’s assessment; it was definitely cool. Between one blink and the next, Vin had disappeared.

“Lindsey’s going to kill you for knowing what Vin is and not telling him,” Dean told Adam.

“One of you idjits want to tell me what’s going on?”

...

Vin had travelled all night, hitchhiking most of the way there, since it was more difficult to track than buses or rentals. It was how he found himself on a porch just barely after the sun had risen, wondering if it was too early to bother the woman inside. 

He’d been so terribly tempted to believe the men last night, had wanted to take them at their word, but two things had stopped him. He had no way of telling if they were telling the truth, not with his memory the way it was, and even if he did trust them, that just meant putting them in danger when the fairies came for him again.

The door swung open and an older African-American woman stood in the doorway. She looked decidedly unimpressed. 

“You gonna stand there all morning or you gonna come in?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Bobby sent me,” Vin said, hesitant to step inside in case she’d mistaken him for someone else.

“Well of course he did,” she said. “And I can see why. You’re a mess.”

“Sorry to show up so early, ma’am,” he said, taking off his cap and offering a hand to shake.

“At least you’re polite.” 

She shook his hand and then stepped aside and gestured him in. 

“I’m Vin, ma’am.”

“Missouri Mosley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who didn’t catch it last time, I closed the poll on Eliot and despite overwhelming support for Eliot/Neal, I’m instead going with Eliot/Hannibal King (Blade) and Neal/Henry Morgan (Forever). If you’ve got a better idea, speak now, before I start planning out those sequels and set my heart on a particular storyline.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin finally shows up. No one else from Without a Trace will, though.

When Ezra and Josiah had finally returned from Clear Lake, Chris caught Ezra’s eye and gestured him into his office. 

“You’ve been caught up on the situation,” Chris said. Ezra nodded even though it wasn’t a question. If there was one thing his team was good at, it was making sure they all had critical information. Too many injuries in the early days of the team when they hadn’t always communicated quickly or well enough meant that it had become second nature.

“You knew about Vin?” Chris asked.

“I did.”

There was a part of Chris that resented the trust the two men shared, a trust that hadn’t been extended to him, but he pushed it aside. He would change that when they got Vin back.

“You know why these things are after him?” 

Ezra shook his head.

“He did not seem overly anxious,” Ezra told him. “At least not about any matters beyond the case. I do not think he was aware of their interest in him.”

Chris sighed, but nodded. Both men had been anxious about being loaned to the FBI. They’d both had bad experiences with corrupt chains of command but the problem with having the reputation their team did, was that they were often in demand and Orin insisted that he agree to the occasional collaboration to promote interagency co-operation. Although, Chris rather thought Orin would defer to him about that for the next while. He wasn’t going to let either man out of his sight for some time. 

“What about this FBI team?” he asked because DiNozzo’s team seemed to be looking out for Vin’s interests, but they were also hunters and hunters weren’t known for their ability to see shades of grey. And he trusted Ezra’s impression of people.

Ezra watched Chris for a moment, evaluating him. He seemed to find in Chris whatever he needed. Ezra’s skin shifted to a faintly red colour and two small horns appeared at each temple. Chris frowned as he tried to place what Ezra was and wondered just how many of his team were supernatural without him being aware. Not Buck, JD or Nathan from what Chris had seen of their reactions. 

“Half empath demon,” Ezra told him, answering Chris’s unasked question. Chris wondered how that came about. Empathy must be a useful skill for a conman. Or an undercover agent. He wondered how many times it had saved Ezra or the team. Ezra cocked his head to one side. 

Chris wondered what it was like to feel other people’s emotions as your own. He could smell things like fear and desire, but never like they were his own. It couldn’t be comfortable or easy.

“They are sincere,” Ezra told him. “There is a great deal of hostility. But not toward our team.”

“That’s something at least,” Chris said. 

“DiNozzo, MacDonald and Winchester are dangerous men, but would make good allies. It’s Baines I’m uncertain about.”

“Baines?” Chris asked, because he had been the one to almost get through to Vin when Chris himself couldn’t. He had been the one out of all them who had known what Vin was. 

“He’s exceedingly difficult to read.”

Chris nodded. There was something about him that smelled different, too. It was something Chris had never smelled before. 

“Find out what you can,” Chris told him and Ezra nodded.   
   
...

When Missouri rested her hands on the small table, palms up, Vin hesitantly placed his hands in hers. She’d said she’d help him sorts things out and, as much as Vin wanted answers, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of someone else digging around in his head. 

“Relax, child,” she chided him, frowning.

Vin forced himself to breathe calmly and evenly. He reminded himself that he wanted these answers, needed to know what had happened so he could be prepared. He needed to know who those men were and what they meant to him.

“We’ll find your answers for you,” she told him, giving his hands a squeeze. Vin didn’t bother to hide his feelings of discomfit, sure she was more than used to it. She didn’t give any indication one way or the other.

Vin closed his eyes as well and concentrated on what he wanted to know. He drew a blank before the hospital as he always had and his thoughts drifted to Chris Larabee, the man who claimed to be his boss and friend. 

“Oh,” Missouri said, surprised. Vin had the feeling she wasn’t often. “Now that would be a shame to waste.”

“What?” Vin asked.

Missouri gave his hands another squeeze. 

“Child, friendship is not the word to characterise that relationship.”

Vin frowned, confused. Chris had said they were friends and Vin had felt like that was true, even if he hadn’t recognised the man himself. For a moment, an image flashed across his mind, of him and Chris and several other men in a warehouse. Chris was looking at him, mouth set in a line but eyes glinting with shared humour. He thought he might understand what Missouri meant. 

Missouri released his hands and Vin knew would be it for the moment. Still, as brief as it had been, he’d remembered something, and that felt like it was the beginning of a change. 

“And that Winchester boy might be a little coarse, but you can trust him,” she said, patting his hand. Vin had no idea who she was referring to but he nodded anyway.

...

Martin Fitzgerald was having a terrible day. They’d just finished a case that ended with three dead kids and the guy who did it had a lawyer who might just be able to get him off the charges. And then, his day got worse.

“Something I can help you with?” Martin asked when several people cornered him in his parking lot. There was something strange about them, something that set him on edge, though he wasn’t entirely sure what. He turned to present less of a target and put a hand on the gun at his hip.

“Your brother refuses to co-operate,” one of them told him, stepping forward menacingly. “You will either force his co-operation or take his place.”

Martin stepped back, drawing his gun and disengaging the safety. 

“You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t have a brother.”

“Your ignorance is not our concern,” one of them said. 

Martin raised his gun, but they seemed to move faster than he could track. One of them grabbed the gun, wrenching it out of his hands and another grabbed his arms twisting them behind his back. No matter how much he struggled or whatever moves he tried, they resisted him as if his strength was nothing to them.

He opened his mouth to yell for help when one of them hit him hard over the head and he slumped to the ground. He blinked blurry eyes and tried to hold on to consciousness. The only way he was going to get out of this was if he kept his wits about him.

“He’s not as strong as the other. Do you think he will survive the ritual?” one of them asked.

“It is unlikely,” another answered. “The other almost didn’t and we could not even complete the ritual.”

“He will have to do,” a third said.

Martin couldn’t help but think he wasn’t likely to get out of this alive.


	9. Chapter 9

“You know where he is, don't you,” Baines said, tone matter-of-fact. If Bobby was surprised at the man entering the room without alerting him, he wasn't going to give any indication. Bobby gave him a level look, not saying one way or the other. “He doesn't have to be on his own in this.”

“He's a good kid,” Bobby told him. “And his mind's full of holes. He's got little enough as it is; figured I'd let him keep his choices.”

“I'd rather he keep his life.”

Bobby sighed. He removed his cap and ran a hand over his head as he considered how to explain himself.

“They ain't gonna give up,” Bobby told him.

“The Tuatha always were vindictive pricks,” Baines agreed easily. “The Fomorians are worse. But do you really think after angels, gods and Old Ones that the team isn't going to figure out how to deal with a few fairies?”

Bobby smiled wryly. He had to admit, Dean's team had accomplished some pretty amazing things, and he liked Vin, he really did. If there was a chance of saving him, Bobby wasn't going to throw it away.

“Missouri Mosley,” Bobby admitted finally. “Lawrence, Kansas.”

Baines nodded.

…

Vin swept the dust and grit off Missouri's porch, enjoying the repetitive motion. He didn't have to think, didn't have to remember; he could just let the rhythm of the movements lull him into a sense of peace and calm. The time he'd spent with her had been helpful, but it hadn't been without its stresses. He'd just finished sweeping when she appeared in the doorway with a glass of lemonade. He didn't miss the way she surveyed the street or the tension that pinched the corners of her eyes.

He gratefully took the glass from her and followed her inside, closing the door behind him. He wasn't sure about the details, but he knew the house had some level of protection, so the closed door provided a small measure of comfort. Not as much as Bobby's with it's panic room but more than when he'd been on his own.

“I'll pack my things,” Vin said softly. Missouri pursed her lips.

“I'm not gonna kick you out, child,” she told him. “But they're closing in on you. I can sense something, something old and wild, sniffing around the edges of my protections.”

Vin nodded and took another long drink of lemonade, wondering when the next time he'd get a chance to experience the comforts of home, even if it wasn't his home. Even if Missouri wasn't telling him to leave, he knew he couldn't stay. No only would she be in danger, but it would only be a matter of time before they got to him anyway. He finished his drink and placed his glass in the sink, movements slow and careful as he considered where to go from there. 

“You'd better come back to finish the backyard,” she told him.

"I'll be back," he assured her. She patted his shoulder as he passed and he didn't have to be psychic to know that she was worried. His own fear was an almost tangible thing gripping his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

“Thanks for everything, Ms Mosley,” he told her, tipping the brim of his peak cap. She smiled at him, but it was sad, regretful.

...

Chris was never going to get used to travelling by angel. Part of it, he was sure, was because of his vampire nature. The angel didn't seem to particularly mind one way or the other and he'd heard DiNozzo's team joking about associating with all sorts of creatures, not least of all demons, but it still made him uncomfortable.

Sarah had been religious and to be turned just after her death had seemed like some sort of sign to him that god wanted nothing to do with him. To be consorting with demons and angels, and who knew what else, seemed entirely beyond his experience. Vin was near, though, according to Singer. Chris would have put up with a lot more for the chance to find his friend and bring him home.

“Mosley should be just down the road,” Baines said and Chris nodded. Without another word, they crossed the street to Mosley's house and Chris began pounding on her door.

"He's not there," the angel said, looking away, down the road and into the gloom of approaching night. Chris tilted his head to face the wind and breathed in deeply. There was a strange scent on the air, something strange and dangerous. He tensed, fangs lowering as he glared into the darkness.

Winchester and Baines were already drawing their weapons when the atmosphere changed. The air around them grew heavy with foreboding as several figures appeared out of the darkness. They were beautiful, but uncanny, in some way too perfect, like they weren't entirely real.

He couldn't hear their heartbeats or feel the allure of the blood rushing through their veins. Hypocritical as it might be, they just didn't seem natural. He snarled, ready to pounce.

...

Dean tightened his grip on his gun. He really hated these things. They weren't sparkly or little or cute, they were inhuman.

"You will not keep him from us," one of them said, stepping forward.

"Looks like you're too late anyway," Adam said, mouth twisting into a smirk. One of the fairies frowned, moving forward to look down at Adam. Adam didn't appear intimidated but Dean always figured it was difficult to intimidate someone who was, at least partly, about as old as the universe.

"He's still here somewhere," one of the dark fairies said, looking around.

Half the number detached, pacing around the group. The other half remained, staring down at them.

"Leave him alone," Chris snarled, shifting his stance like it was all he could do not to attack them. Dean stepped closer, unsure if he wanted to stop him or join him.

"You who are the lowest of creatures dares to keep us from what's ours?" one of the fairies asked, torn between amusement and scorn. Chris growled, a low threatening rumble that made Dean's skin crawl, but didn't seem to affect the fairies at all.

"I wouldn't call vampires the lowest," Dean said. "I mean, rougarous must be lower on the heirarchy. And so far, I've met more vampires I'd have a beer with than any of you guys."

"Kill them and be done with it," one of the pale fairies said. "We've already got the brother."

Dean wondered what brother they were referring to, since as far as he knew Vin was an only child and an orphan.

"Don't touch them," Vin said, materialising from the shadows around them.

"Vin," Chris breathed and Vin spared him a small, quick smile. Dean felt some relief that Vin seemed to recognise Chris this time, though it didn't really help their situation much. "You should have gone."

"Couldn't let you have all the fun, cowboy," Vin said and he faltered a moment, clearly unsure where the moniker had come from. Chris' s grin was feral.

One of the fairies made a move for Vin, who ducked out of the way and Chris launched himself at the fairy, only to be batted aside. It was chaos after that. Dean ducked a blow, only to have his knee kicked out from beneath him.

Cas grabbed the fairy, hand around her neck. A glow began around Cas' s hand, not quite the same as when he expelled a demon, the fairy dropped to the ground, body collapsing in on itself until all that was left was dust. Dean managed to get in a good hit on a distracted fairy only to have him turn and backhand Vin, knocking him hard to the ground.

Adam fought like Death and the fairies didn't seem to be able to hit him in any meaningful way. Vin and Chris fought back-to-back, they were doing well, but both of them were beginning to falter. Dean knew it wasn't going to end well.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out something Lindsey had prepared earlier. He slapped a hand around one of the fairy's ankles and held on tight. The foot aimed at his head was the last thing he saw before everything went black.

...

Vin couldn't stop thinking about the carnage that had been left behind. At least two of the people who had come after him were down, unconscious or dead. The one in the long coat had still been fighting valiantly, but he had been swarmed by five fairies. The last thing Vin had seen before they subdued him was Chris being stabbed through the chest. Vin hoped the kind of vampire he was could survive that.

"We must try again soon," one of the Tuatha who'd taken him said.

"I agree. There is not much time before the way will be closed to us forever," another said.

"We need to make preparations," the first added.

They walked away, still in fierce discussion, leaving Vin alone with a single guard, one of the dark-skinned Fomorians. The guard seemed unable to look him in the eye. Vin wondered if it was disdain or guilt.

"Why am I so important?" Vin asked, letting the guard lead him without much of a struggle, not that he could put up much of one the way his body was aching. He hoped he would get some answers instead. The Fomorian remained silent, leading him further down into the abandonned building. "Why does it have to be me?"

"Because you're half way," the Fomorian conceded, tone faintly apologetic.

"Half way?"

"Half way between us and them, between worlds," the guard told him. "You're the key."

Something about the way he said that made Vin think it wouldn't end all that well for him. Especially because most of them only considered him a means to an end.

"The key to what?" Vin asked, pressing now that he was finally getting answers. The Fomorian seemed to realise how much he'd revealed because he shook his head.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," the Fomorian said, stopping to unlock a shaded door. Peeling paint flaked to the floor as he pushed it open. "If there was any other choice..."

His sympathy didn't touch Vin because it ultimately changed nothing. The guard guard bowed to him briefly before shutting the door, the lock clicking loudly in the silence.

...

Lindsey watched the two teams talk urgently between themselves. Cas was exhausted and Dean was down for the count until he'd recovered from his strength to heal him. Larabee was off somewhere drinking enough blood to get him back on his feet. Even Adam was looking tired.

“You knew what he was from the start, didn’t you?” Lindsey said, not turning to look at Adam who settled in next to him. He didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about either. Vin was the focus of all their attention. Adam shrugged which was as good as a confession.

“So, the hours I spent on failing to bribe or con the answer out of him, the time I spent researching what he might be, you were just laughing at me?”

“Yep.”

“I hate you.”

Adam smirked and looked entirely unconcerned.

“I hate you so much,” Lindsey told him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, funny story. I wrote Chapter 9 on a different computer to the others, and it was long enough ago that I forgot. So I wrote it again. Then realised my mistake when I went to post it. In other words, Chapter 9 is now a merging of the two versions because I wrote some stuff the second time around that I didn’t want to leave out. So you might want to go back and read it again?

Beyond a few questions about what he had done with himself since the hospital and whether or not his health had been compromised, they left him in peace. He assumed the dark and dank room was supposed to soften him to their demands, but his nature meant that he didn't find the dark to be discomforting.

The loneliness was what got to him first. He was just starting to get his memories back, or at least the emotions behind the memories, and he knew that he belonged with Chris and his team, that the other men were close to him too. 

Vin looked up immediately when the door opened. 

“A stór,” a woman said as she entered and he shivered, remembering her from the hospital. “You are a prize without comparison.”

Vin remained silent and glared at her. 

"There's no need to be angry," she told him, stepping forward and attempting to grasp his jaw, but he jerked his head away. "You are one of us now and everything will better when we're finished."

"What did you do to me?" he demanded.

"We improved you," she told him. "We made you one of us."

"Fomorian."

"The Tuatha would have you believe otherwise, but you are ours."

"Why?" he asked. "Why have you done this to me?"

"Because there was always our blood in your veins and because through that you will save us all."

"How?"

"By dying." She gently touched her fingertips to his forehead, stroking down his face. Her touch wasn't as cold as he remembered. Perhaps the dread of it had faded. Or perhaps he'd been changed enough not to find it uncomfortable anymore. He wondered what that meant for his relationship with those who considered themselves close to him. Though none of that really mattered if he didn't survive.

"Do not concern yourself. You are a prince among us, descended from Elatha himself, and you will be remembered for ages to come."

“Who is Elatha?” 

It wasn’t a name he’d heard before and the Fomorians suddenly seemed forthcoming. Perhaps because they had him in their clutches and no longer had need for secrecy.

“Our king,” she told him.

“Is he here?” Vin asked, curious despite himself. He remembered a mother, blond and blue-eyed though she was half-Native American. He thought he might inherit the Fomorian blood from the other side. 

“No,” she said sharply, before softening slightly. There wasn’t much difference as far as he could tell. “But there is someone else you should see.”

...

The door to his cell opened with a creak and Martin shivered at the cold wind that blew in. His suit had not been designed for warmth and he no longer had his coat with him. A man appeared, silhouetted against the light spilling in from the corridor. When the man stepped forward, Martin wondered what sort of game his kidnappers were playing.

Martin stared at the man who, with a few subtle distinctions, might have been his mirror image. 

"Who are you?" Martin demanded, but he had the feeling he already knew the answer. His father's affairs weren't exactly a secret or at least they were an open one. "What do you want with me? I doubt my father would pay any ransom if that's what you're after."

The door slammed shut behind the man and they were plunged into near darkness again. 

"I'm not in charge," the man told him.

"You're my brother," Martin said with certainty. The other man didn't say anything and Martin wasn't sure if that meant he was already aware of their relationship or not."I'm Martin."

"Vin."

It wasn't much, but it was something.

"What do they want from us?" Martin asked.

"Nothing," Vin said. He sighed and there was a shuffling sound, though Martin could barely make out Vin moving across the room. The other man didn't seem to have any trouble navigating in the dark. Martin thought it a little odd when he didn't feel any body heat from the other man when he settled beside him, but the room wasn't exactly warm and maybe his brother was more sensitive to the cold. 

"If they don't want anything then why are we here?" Martin hesitated, an uncomfortable thought coming to him. "They don't really need me, do they? It's you they want."

He heard movement and didn't need to be able to see to know Vin was nodding.

"My team won't know where to start looking for me," Martin said. "Not since no one knows you exist. Except my father, I assume, and he’s not going to admit to your existence."

"Your team?"

"FBI missing persons," Martin said. 

"I have people looking for me," Vin said confidently. "Agents." He sounded less sure about the second thing. "They know what they're doing."

“Even against these things?” Martin asked, not sure how anyone could think about going up against them and surviving. They didn’t find gun a threat and they were stronger than anyone he’d come across. 

“Especially against these things,” Vin told him and he sounded confident, but Martin had to believe that was a lie.

...

They’d decided a surgical strike was better than a full out attack, but Lindsey was feeling the strain of trying to mask his and Castiel’s presence. The tracker Dean had placed on the fairy seemed to do its job, if barely. Something about them seemed opposed to Lindsey’s brand of magic and interfered with it. They’d only been lucky so far in that there weren’t too many fairies patrolling the corridors and it seemed like they thought themselves too good to be challenged so openly.

“He is this way,” Castiel said, walking slowly down a corridor that looked exactly like all the others they’d gone down. Lindsey was sure if he’d been on his own he would have been lost by now. At least Castiel seemed to have learned something approaching stealth, though Lindsey wasn’t sure where from. He certainly hadn’t learned it from Dean. Finally, Cas stopped in front of a non-descript door.

“He’s in here.”

Lindsey made quick work of the lock and the door swung open, revealing two men. The other man looked uncannily like Vin. Lindsey would have suspected a shapeshifter, but there were subtle differences. The length of hair being the most obvious.

“He’s my brother,” Vin said standing. He didn’t look like he’d been treated too badly. The look-alike looked a little worse off. Lindsey wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t an elaborate trap, but he couldn’t leave an innocent man behind either.

“Come on then,” Lindsey said and Cas held out an arm. Vin and the man claiming to be his brother each grabbed hold after some prompting and they disappeared.


	11. Chapter 11

Chris watched with restrained intensity as MacDonald and the angel lead Vin and a look-alike up the porch steps and into Singer's house. It would be one of the first places they came to look for him, but they had to stop running soon. It wasn't getting them anywhere and it would only be a matter of time before the fairies succeeded. The team all stood immediately, but refrained from crowding the no longer missing man. He'd been skittish before and was only more so now.

One by one the team welcomed Vin back with a shake of the hand, a slap to the shoulder or, in JD's case, an impulsive hug. Until finally it was just Ezra and Chris.

“It is good to see you well, Mr Tanner,” Ezra said, the warmth in his tone belying the formality of his words.

“I...” Vin began, squinting at him a little. “You too, Ezra.”

Despite his words, it was clear Vin's memories still hadn't returned, at least not wholly. Vin never called him 'Ezra', it was always 'Ez'.

“Nayehi,” Baines said.

“Ancient.”

Baines raised an eyebrow.

“Thought it was Immortal.”

“Benefit of distance,” Vin said eventually. Chris wondered if it was more than that with the way the two men were looking at each was any indication. He didn't like Baines's narrowed eyes. There was some connection there, between Vin and all of DiNozzo's team that Chris hadn't known about before Vin's disappearance and couldn't penetrate now. It was frustrating, like it vied for attention with the connection he felt with Vin, which had never been called into question before. Vin wasn't one of theirs, he was one of his.

"Come on," Chris said, lightly touching Vin's elbow. Vin didn't pull away. "We're coming up with a plan to stop them and we could use anything you know.”

Vin smiled again, the smallest quirk of his mouth.

“I might not be all there yet,” Vin said, tapping the side of his head. “But I have the feeling that plans don't always end well.”

“Not ours,” Chris told him with a wry smirk.

"Sounds like fun," Vin said, grinning at him. Chris couldn't help but smile back.

...

Later, Vin found himself sitting around a small table, waiting for what there was of their plan to come to fruition. They only needed to wait for the Tuatha and Fomorians to come for him. Each of them was finding their ways to pass the time until then. Bobby and MacDonald were sorting out the ritual area, but they'd shooed everyone out of the space so they could focus on the complex preparations.

He still couldn't remember all the specifics, but he was starting to remember the emotions he'd attached to them. There wasn't anything there that he felt he couldn't trust. Given that it was the closest he'd come to finding somewhere he fitted, he was willing to go with it,

Ezra watched him closely over the tops of his cards from where he sat across the table. Winchester and Baines sat between them. Ezra didn't seem entirely comfortable with the two men but, from what little Vin remembered, that had something to do with them being FBI, not with the men themselves. Besides, both men seemed to be fairly good at cards.

Baines seemed able to read them all fairly easily, or at least pretend he could. Winchester seemed to be playing with only half his mind on the game, but he didn't seem to be doing too badly either. He watched as Ezra palmed a card and substituted it for another. It wasn't the first time. He raised an eyebrow.

"You used to allow me some liberties," Ezra told him. Winchester snorted. Vin shook his head, not sure he could imagine that. "I believe you found amusement in the others not being as observant as yourself."

"And you cut me in," Vin said with certainty from what he judged from his vague memories of the man. Ezra's smirk was small and sharp.

"Well, I'm out," Winchester said, throwing his cards to the table. Baines kept his inscrutable expression as he tossed a rock salt shell onto the pile of bullets and mystical trinkets in the middle of the table. Vin shook his head and put his own cards on the table, face down. 

Ezra and Baines stared at each other, Ezra sharp-eyed and Baines sprawled casually in his chair. It felt comfortable somehow, the comradery, even if the thought of it didn't exactly feel familiar, like something he'd had for a long time.

Finally, Ezra lowered his cards, showing a full house of three jacks and a pair of fours. Baines raised an eyebrow and showed four kings. Ezra's faint smirk faded and he sighed. Baines looked entirely too satisfied with himself, but Vin figured that it wasn't an unfamiliar expression. He didn’t bother to argue what would be a fifth king in his own hand.

"I need a break," Vin said, standing up from the table. Winchester grunted his agreement and moved to where he'd been cleaning his guns before the game had begun. Ezra and Baines continued to stare at each other from across the table.

Vin made his way to the kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge. When he turned, he found Martin standing in the doorway. Martin was scrutinising him and Vin realised his half-brother hadn't really had the chance to really see him and their remarkable resemblance since they’d arrived. They hadn’t really had a quite moment either.

"I've come to some conclusions," Martin told him. Vin raised an eyebrow. "They said your memory had some holes and some of them clearly know you better than others, but some of them were clearly unsurprised by my existence."

Vin said and did nothing, not sure what Martin expected from him. He barely knew himself well enough, never mind trying to predict someone he barely knew even before his memory lapse. 

"My relationship with my father is... difficult," Martin told him eventually. "I'm not expecting us to be a big happy family. But I want you to know that I always wanted a brother and when all this is over," Martin gestured vaguely around them, "I'd like to keep in touch. You know, whatever you feel comfortable with."

Vin nodded, wondering what had kept him from contacting the man before.

"How are you dealing?" he asked instead. Martin shrugged.

"I'm working under the assumption that I'm slowly freezing to death in that room and anything to do with fairies, angels, and everything is my brain's delusional way of protecting itself."

Vin smiled and Martin smiled back before he turned and left the doorway. A moment later, Vin ventured to the porch, where Chris stood, staring out at the setting sun. Chris glanced at him, silently accepting the offered beer and they settled in comfortably next to each other. Vin felt like this must be something they did often.

"Your view's better," Vin told him, leaning his arms against the railing. He felt like the view should have been accompanied by the faint sound of horses and the clean smell of outdoors, not the smell of oil and rust, and the creaking of cars settling. Chris smirked faintly and took a long drink. He seemed more settled, but Vin wasn’t sure what had changed.

That’s when Vin felt a shift in the air and a chill shiver down his spine. 

“They’re here,” he said and Chris nodded, looking out over the yard as if he’d sensed the shift too. Chris’s expression became grim and they turned back inside, beers abandoned on the railing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler for the confrontation next chapter. Mostly they all just needed a chance to reconnect.


End file.
